Sticking
by oucellogal
Summary: Scotty's thoughts post-"Slipping." It isn't about Elisa...or is it?


**A/N: I know, I know, I'm supposed to be working on Chapter 11. But Scotty invaded my head and demanded that I write this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Everyone knows that by now.**

* * *

**Sticking**

_Why does my heart go on beating_

_Why do these eyes of mine cry_

_Don't they know it's the end of the world_

_It ended when you said goodbye_

* * *

_This isn't about you, Scotty…or Elisa…or is it?_

I'm headed home after closin' our last case, Lil's words echoin' around in my head like they do from time to time. That's one of the most aggravatin' things about her: stuff she says just sticks with me, even when she's dead wrong.

Like today. I'm sittin' there in the kitchen, goin' over the case again, readin' poetry, for God's sake, insistin' that Nancy didn't write that note, that she wasn't the type to leave without sayin' goodbye, that we really did have a homicide on our hands. I truly wasn't thinkin' about Elisa. I was thinkin' about Nancy's daughter, about her family, how they'd thought for years that Nancy'd gone nutty and taken her own life, and how nice it'd be to give 'em a different ending.

I know firsthand what it's like to have someone you love decide to end it all…the ones they leave behind are left with so many questions, and you know you ain't gonna get the answers you want, not in a million years. But that don't stop you from tryin'. And if it's murder…well…that don't make it any easier, really. Your loved one's still gone. You still ain't ever gonna see 'em again. But…them dyin'…it ain't their fault. And it ain't yours, either…not if they were murdered. Nothin' you coulda done. So I was hopin' Nancy's family could have a different ending than the one I got.

I stuck to the case, even when none of the rest of 'em wanted to, and I got Nancy's family that different ending. She was murdered. Her husband made her think she was goin' crazy, killed her, and made it look like a suicide. _Way to make a daughter's day_, I thought. Good news: your mom didn't kill herself. Bad news: your dad killed her and made it look like she did, all 'cause he was jealous of her poetry. Crappy way to close a case. But…at least Nancy didn't do it to herself.

So I wasn't readin' somethin' into nothin' in the kitchen today. I know what I saw. That note…that wasn't Nancy's handwritin'. Clear as day, it wasn't. Don't know why none of the others saw it that way. Nick's standin' there, all high and mighty. _Drop it_, _Scotty,_ he told me. _It's bad enough that we rocked the boat with the family_.

That ain't what I'm doin' here, and I can't believe none of 'em could figure that out. Hell, I know better than any of 'em what it's like to have the boat rocked. I'm thinkin' back to that day a couple years ago when Anna Mayes called me in to interview this guy who'd thrown a girl into the river. She'd washed up right near where Elisa had…and she even looked like Elisa, a little bit. Not in the face, really, but the long dark hair and the big brown eyes looked kinda like hers…so I could see where Anna thought there was a connect. I did, too.

Sittin' across the table from him that day, I don't think I've ever wanted to kill someone, actually end their life with my bare hands, like I did him. Dante, his name was. Claimed there were lots of girls who just had to go offa the bridge…girls with long hair, wrong in the head… I wanted that son of a bitch to give me every last detail of what he did to Elisa…every word, every move…what he said to her, what she said to him, what her last words were, how loud she screamed when he pushed her over…everything…and then I was gonna take him to the river, punch, kick, and choke the life out of him, and then throw him over the bridge myself. That was my plan.

But it all went to hell when he started ramblin' about how this girl was walkin', 'cause her car broke down, and her boyfriend wasn't answerin' the phone, and he lived all the way across town...for a split second, my heart stopped. Elisa was murdered, and it was my fault anyway: she was dead 'cause I didn't answer my phone. But reality came crashin' in then. It wasn't Elisa he was talkin' about. She didn't drive, never owned a car, me and her lived six blocks from each other…and she never called me that day. I realized right there that the only girl Dante actually murdered was this Angela he kept blubberin' about.

I coulda killed him then, anyway…givin' me false hope like that…but realizin' that he didn't kill Elisa, she probably did commit suicide like everyone said…just zapped all my energy then and there, like lettin' the air out of a balloon. It was all I could do to muster up the strength just to get back in the car, drive back to Headquarters, and try to figure out that damn Internet startup case. That turned out to be pretty futile. I was sittin' in the office, goin' over the financials with everyone else, but I kept thinkin' about Elisa, pictures of her jumpin' offa that bridge playin' in my head until my mind was spinnin' and the numbers on the page were all blurry and I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to get outta there before I lost it completely.

I mumbled some excuse to the others and hightailed it outside, where I took Elisa's note outta my pocket and kept readin' it over and over, finally realizin' that…she did do it to herself. She wasn't murdered.

She jumped.

Boss found me, and I don't know how the hell I kept from cryin' all over him that night, but somehow, I managed it. He told me to just lay it to rest, 'cause I wasn't gonna get the answers I wanted. He had a point, so the next day, I took Elisa's note to the river and did just that. Laid it to rest. She killed herself. She wasn't murdered.

It really was my fault.

So, yeah…I know about gettin' the boat rocked. I know what it's like to get your hopes up to the sky and then have 'em dashed to the concrete. So, that wasn't what I was doin'. That's the last thing I wanted to be doin'. Can't believe Vera didn't see that…but of course, he and Will were too busy fightin' over the milk in the fridge. They weren't really payin' that much attention.

But Lil was. She always is. After the others left, she started off by sayin' that it wasn't about me.

I smiled then, kinda shook my head like she was makin' somethin' outta nothin'. Of course it wasn't about me. Never was.

And then she said Elisa's name, and I just froze.

No one, and I mean _no one_…has the right to say that name to me. Not my mom, not my brother, not anyone. And Lil just up and says it, as casually as if she was tellin' me she was havin' lunch with her. Now there's a picture…Lil and Elisa havin' lunch? Heaven help me if _that _were ever possible.

If it'd been anyone else sayin' that, any of the other guys, I prob'ly woulda punched their lights out. But Lil's got this way of sayin' stuff to me that no one else would ever get away with in a million years, mostly 'cause when she does, I'm so shocked it takes me half an hour to think of a good comeback. Today was no exception. I just sat there, watchin' her leave, still not believin' she'd had the balls to say that, that _she_, of all people, had said _that._

After I got over bein' shocked, I just sat there at the table, tryin' to come up with a response. _Mind your own business, willya? _was my first witty retort, but that ain't that clever. I sat there fumin' for a minute, and then came up with another one. The one I shoulda said.

_Hey, why don't you take the two-by-four outta your own eye before you start pickin' at the speck in mine?_

Of course, by then, Lil was long gone. But man, do I wish I coulda said that to her. Lil's the biggest hypocrite of 'em all when it comes to stuff like this. She's got more issues than I can even count, and she ain't dealin' with any of 'em. Not a one. She saw a shrink for a while after the shootin', just to make sure she wasn't nuts, she said, but last time I checked, she still wasn't sleepin', she was still wanderin' around the office like an empty shell of herself, so the shrink apparently didn't work too good. Not that I'm surprised. Lil actually openin' up to someone who might be able to help her? Yeah, right.

That's kinda why I look out for her so much, I think, 'cause I don't want her to get even more drama to shove under the rug and not deal with than she's already got. So this tough, fragile, pain-in-the-ass partner of mine, who's got the dead mom and the shootin' and her crappy childhood and her disaster of a love life…what right does she have to pick at my drama? I've dealt with it, I'm fine, so just drop it already and go see about sortin' out some of your own problems.

Okay, I admit, I didn't deal with Elisa right off, either. I swept it under the rug…thought drinkin' gallons of booze and sleepin' with the last woman in the world I shoulda been sleepin' with woulda made the pain go away. 'Cause I'd never felt pain like that. Ever. It was one thing when me and Elisa broke things off. I mean, that hurt like hell, 'cause we spent over a decade plannin' our lives together, and when that just wasn't gonna happen, when I realized I wasn't gonna wake up next to her every mornin', we weren't gonna have kids, we weren't gonna grow old together…that hurt.

But that was nothin' compared to this…to knowin' she was gone forever, that I was never gonna see her face again, never gonna hear her voice, never gonna make her laugh. Life without Elisa…that was just somethin' I couldn't imagine, not in a million years.

Even after we broke it off, I still visited her. I mean, how could I not? We'd been together since we were kids. First date, first kiss, birthdays, Christmases, drivin' lessons, proms, graduations, careers…all of that, we did together. I realize now that I never stopped lovin' her, even after it all went to hell. Wasn't her fault she got sick. It just happened. And even though my head was tellin' me to make a clean break, my heart couldn't let go of her. I kept visitin' her…not very often toward the end, 'cause it hurt too damn much to see her like that…but I just couldn't stop goin' altogether. We'd been together so long, been through so much, that I couldn't picture any kinda life without her in it. Even though I wasn't gonna marry her…didn't mean I couldn't still look out for her…couldn't still go talk to her from time to time. Goin' to see her, even when she was in a bad way, even when it hurt…it was still better than not bein' with her at all.

The last time she got outta the hospital, she called me, like she always did. New meds, she said. They were workin' great. Wanted to know if I wanted to give it another try.

That was a thing with us…on again, off again…she'd get better, I'd get roped back in. I'd start hopin', we'd start plannin' and dreamin' again, and then…somethin' d happen. Either she'd forget her meds, or they'd quit workin', but somehow, she'd always wind up back in the hospital. Those good times with her, though…those good times were always so good, just like when we were kids, that in the midst of 'em, I always thought they made the bad times worth it.

After that last time, though…that time she took off and I spent the whole day drivin' around, lookin' for her, more scared than I'd ever been in my whole life…I realized I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't fix what was wrong with her. Couldn't save her.

Had to call it off.

So I did.

And when she called me that last time, wantin' to give it another try, I couldn't remember the good stuff like I usually could when I heard her voice on the other end. For the first time in my whole life, all I could think about was that one horrible day when she went missin', couldn't see how this wouldn't turn out any different than any of the other times, so…

…I said no.

Dammit.

I said _no_. To _Elisa. _The love of my life.

If I'da said yes, maybe that woulda kept her alive…maybe she wouldn't have even thought about goin' offa that bridge.

If I'da said yes, maybe she woudla called me insteada writin' me that note the day she decided to jump…maybe I coulda been there, maybe I coulda talked her out of it. Maybe I coulda grabbed her as she fell, or jumped in the water after her and brought her to shore.

If I'da said yes, maybe, when the meds quit workin' again, I coulda convinced her to give it one more try, to go to one more doctor, to try one more drug cocktail…maybe that woulda been the magic one. Maybe that woulda made her herself again. Maybe, right now, insteada bein' alone, maybe I'd be with her. Hell, we might have even set a date by now.

Oh, who the hell am I kiddin'? If I could have her back, I'd set any date she wanted. If she were standin' right here in fronta me, issuin' that ultimatum like she did so long ago…I'd marry her on the spot if she asked me to. If only I had the chance to do it over…I'd say yes.

But when I had that chance…I said no.

That's the reason she went in the river. And no one can convince me otherwise.

Prob'ly 'cause I never told anyone else. Oh, sure, they say, loved ones of suicide victims always blame themselves, always think there's somethin' they coulda seen, coulda said, shoulda done different, that mighta made the person change their mind. The experts say that's bunk, that someone suicidal's gonna do it no matter what their loved ones do or say.

Elisa was never suicidal, though. She never gave off any of the warnin' signs everyone says to watch out for. Never talked about it, never threatened it, never started givin' her stuff away or makin' plans for who'd get it after she was gone. The one thing she did that, lookin' back, mighta been a sign, if I'd been payin' attention to somethin' other than how to keep from breakin' down completely, was the night we ended it for good, the night she told me I deserved better, I had my whole life ahead of me, implyin' that maybe she didn't…

But, no…she called me again after that. Asked me to give it another try with her. So that wasn't really a warnin' sign either.

Which is why I was convinced she was murdered. She was always real naïve, real trustin'. Even before she got sick, I'd have to remind her, over and over, that not everyone she met on the streets was trustworthy. Not every bum who claimed to need two dollars for gas really needed it for gas. Not every hobo who asked for a burger wanted a burger. In fact, most of 'em didn't. But she always gave 'em handouts anyway. Always stopped to chat. _Bella,_ I'd say to her, _they ain't gonna hear you over the voices in their heads. They need more help than you can give. Those two dollars are either gonna go to booze or cigarettes, and neither of those things are gonna give 'em the help they need. _Every time I'd say that, though, she'd look at me like_ I_ was the one off my rocker, not the bum. _He says he's hungry, Scotty. Why can't I just give him the money?_ And he always would. So the thought that she might just up and wander off with one of 'em was always a worry of mine, even before she got sick.

Lookin' back on that, maybe she saw those bums as kindred spirits. Like maybe she knew what was happenin' in her head before any of the rest of us did…maybe she felt a connection to the sick ones on the streets, knowin' that, if the dice had rolled a little different, that coulda been her.

But it was never gonna _be _her. I was gonna make damn sure of that. I promised her parents, I promised her sister, I promised _her_, that I'd take care of her.

And I didn't. I copped out. I ran for the hills when it got too hard.

I said no…and she jumped.

I thought I was fine, after…I thought if I could just get back in the game, get back to work, get back to bein' Detective Valens, it'd all be fine. It'd get back to normal. Elisa hadn't been a part of my daily life for a few months by then, so it ain't like I wasn't used to wakin' up to an empty bed. I was fine. I just needed to get back to normal. I was so desperate I even went to Headquarters and practically begged Boss to let me come back, tried to convince him I was doin' great, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear. When he finally broke me and got me to admit that maybe I wasn't doin' so good after all, then and only then did he let me come back.

I was so happy to go back to work. Finally. Normal. Somethin' to do besides skip rope in my apartment, duck phone calls, fight the pain any way I could, and fail miserably in my quest not to think about Elisa. I'd packed up everything that reminded me of her, which was, let's face it, everything in my apartment, practically. She decorated the damn thing. Think I could make that rat hole look that nice on my own? Huh-uh. That was all Elisa's doin'.

But those fake plants and the pictures…that wasn't what reminded me of her. It was the little stuff. Little stuff like the ballglove I was wearin' the night we met. Still had that damn thing, even after all those years. Maybe that makes me a sentimental fool. I don't care.

Things like…her engagement ring. That tiny little speck of a diamond I bought her, right after I graduated from Academy, before everything went all to hell. That tiny little speck of a diamond that she threw at me, right there in my bedroom, when, four years later, I still wouldn't set a date. She was just gettin' sick then, startin' to act funny. She thought it was the stress of tryin' to plan a weddin' with no date, and I wanted to believe that, but I was convinced, even that early, that somethin' was goin' on. Wasn't that I didn't wanna marry her, it was just that…hell, we were so young, and I didn't know what the rush was. 'Specially not after she started actin' funny. We don't believe in divorce, my family and me, and I wanted to know exactly what I was dealin' with before we tied the knot.

But Elisa didn't take that for an answer, and she threw that damn ring at me one night. We didn't talk for a month, and then she called me outta the blue one day, cryin' so hard I could barely understand her, tellin' me she'd finally given in and gone to a doctor, and it turned out she was really, really sick…could I come over?

Of course I could. I blew off this date I had, some chick whose name I can't even remember, and ran that six blocks fast enough to qualify for the Olympics. And that cycle kept goin' for six years.

Until she called, and I said no.

The one thing I didn't pack up, the one thing I _couldn't_ pack up, was that little red nightgown I gave her one Valentine's Day. We'd been fightin', and I wasn't even sure she'd be talkin' to me that night, but I'd spent a lotta money on that thing, and damned if I wasn't gonna give it to her. Wasn't gonna let forgettin' Valentine's Day be on my list of screw-ups with her.

She was surprised to see me, even more surprised I remembered the holiday, and when she opened her present, all was forgiven. Hell, when I saw her in that thing…and then later, out of it…damned if I could remember what we'd been fightin' about in the first place. That little scrap of fabric saved us that night, I think.

Coulda been that, or it coulda just been my gutter brain knowin' how hot she looked in it, but that nightgown quickly became my favorite, and she knew it, so she always wore it. After a while, she just started leavin' it at my place, and even after we broke it off, she never came back to get it.

And I never took it over to her.

'Cause I never stopped hopin'. Not until that last time…when she called me, wanted me to come over…

…and I said no.

But it's been three years now, and I'm doin' all right. The love life's back on track. Well…maybe not at this exact moment. Me and Alex…that wasn't exactly a love connection. More like a hate connection. I couldn't punch the crap outta her for rattin' me out about Burrell. Oh, I wanted to, but…pain in the ass or not, she's still a woman, and even I won't hit a woman…so I guess I figured the next best thing was to screw her brains out, show her who was boss. Prove to her, and to myself, that even though she was the biggest ball-buster I knew, even though she coulda ended my career, I could still turn her into a helpless pile of need…and I ended up provin' that. Big-time. I made her moan, I made her scream…I even made her beg. ADA Alex Thomas. Tough-as-nails hardass attorney with a reputation for makin' witnesses cry on the stand. I made her _beg_. So I guess I won. I ain't sure…just know that love didn't have a damn thing to do with it.

Before that, though…before that, there was…hmmm…okay…well, there was Charlene in Nashville. That was somethin', right?

Oh, who the hell am I kiddin'? That was meaningless, too. I ain't sure what got into me down there. I didn't even wanna go; got roped into it by way of an unlucky drawin' at work that I kinda think Boss mighta rigged, and had to spend a week in Tennessee with Lil. Spendin' a week with Lil…that was surprisingly okay. Seemed like she'd finally forgiven me for that other stupid thing I did, that thing I ain't even goin' into, 'cause she caught me in the hallway with Charlene, and I figured she'd read me the riot act, but she didn't.

She teased me about it instead. Mercilessly. Called me cheap Christmas trash. Which I deserved. I mean, I was kinda actin' like it, out there in the hallway with my shirt hangin' open, still three-fourths drunk and smellin' like scotch, sex, and Charlene's perfume.

But after that, me and Lil…we actually talked. Like…had a real conversation, talked. I asked her about bein' in Tennessee before, and she told me she almost got hitched there. Let me tell you somethin'. Lil coulda said anything that night, anything at all…she'd gone to Tennessee to see some specialist and have her tail removed, had played steel guitar with the Grand Ole Opry, was one of those girls in bikinis at car shows (now, _there's_ a mental picture), and nothin' woulda surprised me as much as her sayin' she almost got hitched.

I knew she'd been engaged before, and I knew that hadn't ended well, but apparently there was some other guy she almost married. So that's twice that I know about. Add that to my once, and between her and me, that's…three broken engagements.

I thought about the rest of the squad, then…Vera's marriage had finally ended after years of teeterin' on the brink, Boss is divorced, too, Will's wife is dead, and Miller never mentions Veronica's dad, and anytime I even think about askin', she shoots me this look like I better not, not if I want all my limbs and appendages to stay on my body where they belong.

So that's our crew, all of us kickass detectives…and all of us alone.

That's when I busted out my theory, a theory I'd been workin' on for some time to try and make myself feel better about the sorry state my life was in, my theory which, back in Nashville, when I was half-drunk and still dizzy from the things Charlene did to me, made perfect sense. _Gettin' married…may not be in the cards for us…Every good cop I know is a lone wolf. _Seemed like a good plan at the time.

_So maybe all we're gonna have in life is…Charlenes,_ Lil said, still teasin', but I could tell even in that hallway that I'd really taken the wind outta her sails. Which I hadn't meant to do. I mean, c'mon…I was drunk, I'd just gotten laid…I didn't know what the hell I was sayin'.

_Not that the Charlenes are so bad_, I replied, with a tipsy, goofy-ass grin on my face. Not that night, they weren't.

I know now that I didn't mean that about Lil. When I said _us_…I meant _me. _Didn't mean to imply that she was doomed to a life of bein' alone. Hell, anytime she wants to, she could find some nice guy and settle down and be happy, if she'd drop the porcupine act and deal with some of her issues first. I could tell from the look in her eyes that night that she doesn't wanna be a lone wolf, not deep down anyway. She may think she does…but she doesn't.

Neither do I.

I know that now. Back then, I figured that the Charlenes would be enough for me. But here I am, one year, one Charlene, and one Alex later, and, now, as I'm climbin' the steps to my apartment, I realize…they ain't enough.

I don't wanna be a lone wolf, settlin' for whatever I can get whenever I can get it with the Charlenes and the Alexes of the world.

I want what I had.

I want the life I'd been dreamin' about since I was fourteen.

I want Elisa.

_Goddammit_. Tears are stingin' my eyes again, tears I thought surely I'da been done with by now. Three years, and I still ain't even close to bein' over her. Have I even dealt with this at all? Okay, maybe I have…I've quit tryin' to prove she was murdered, I've laid that to rest…but I ain't even close to lettin' her go yet.

And I realize with a sense of finality, as I come into my cold, empty apartment, that apartment that's still decorated the way Elisa liked it...

…that Lil was right.

It was about me.

It was about Elisa.

I think it always has been.


End file.
